something more than nothing
by Caliente
Summary: short story set during the 2009 film –– Near-death experiences have a way of forcing people to evaluate their life choices. (Or how Christine Chapel and Leonard McCoy met and the unexpected way life happens.)
1. Part 1

**Author's Note:** This began as a comment fic in response to a prompt over at the livejournal community mccoy_chapel. I take full responsibility for what was spawned from innocent lyrics. Not my first McCoy/Chapel attempt but the first I'm posting, so please be gentle. The story begins during the Academy years and then finish just before the movie's end. Also, this part and Part 3 will be from Chapel's perspective, while Part 2 will be from McCoy's. Lastly, I must apologize because this is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone! Please feel free to point out anything you catch during reading! Cheers!  
**Disclaimer: **Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of CBS/Paramount/Gene Roddenberry. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.

**something more than nothing**  
by, Caliente

**Part 1**

It wasn't the perfect night—far from it, actually. Christine's roommate brought back _yet another_ boy (seriously—this was it; one way or the other she was getting her own damn room next semester) and, while Rhia hadn't _insisted_ on having the room to herself, Christine had serious studying to do. (It was Wednesday; seriously what the _hell?_) So, with a bag full of PADDs, she schlepped out in the misty San Francisco night.

Semester crunch time was just beginning and Christine was intent on getting top marks. Even so, the library was barely half-full that evening. She selected a table near the back and began to meticulously unload her things. (It was very important to her that everything be where it _belonged_; she didn't care to dissect why, though she suspected it had something to do with the mysteriously mussed up bed she'd come home to on a few occasions before she got wise to her fiancé's _extracurricular_ activities.)

Christine didn't know how much time passed between when she began reviewing case studies and when _he_ sat down at her table but the interruption wasn't entirely unwelcome. She quirked an eyebrow at the stranger, glancing around and noting that there were no longer any empty tables left.

The man—an few years her senior, she suspected, judging by the wrinkles near his eyes—shrugged. "My roommate decided to, ah, _entertain_ this evening; hope you don't mind," he said in a distinctly Southern drawl.

A small snort escaped Christine before she could stop it. "You too, huh?" She smiled ruefully and shook her head. "I'm determined to get my own quarters next semester."

"Good luck to you," he offered with a smirk that didn't look half bad on him. He offered his hand—"Leonard McCoy."

Christine gave it a healthy shake. "Christine Chapel." They shared a smile before each turning their attention to their own studying. It wasn't much of anything but it was something all the same.

* * *

The rest of the semester whipped by at warp speed. Christine kept studying in the library—she really didn't have much of a _choice_ and, more often than not, she'd run into McCoy. He'd usually join her and they'd share companionable silence. A few times they even took study breaks together, chatting a bit here and there.

Christine found out McCoy was divorced, a doctor, six years her elder but also a year behind her at the Academy, had an inexplicable fondness for the mint julep and suffered from aviophobia—something she found hilariously ironic. Likewise, she told him about her failed engagement, her nursing training, that her favorite holiday was Mardi Gras and had two older brothers.

They weren't friends, exactly, but they were more than acquaintances. Christine suspected they were something else all together, though she had no idea what that something might be. (He was handsome but _so very broken_ and she wasn't looking for a project, especially with her own trust issues.) Mostly she just didn't think about it; things were safer that way.

Back in Louisiana for the summer, Christine didn't think of McCoy—much. It mostly only happened when something reminded her of him. Or she ran into a Georgian. Or when she let her mind wander for long enough. But it wasn't much of anything, really. Not even something. (Or so she told herself.)

They didn't correspond and the next year Christine got her own room. She didn't frequent the library much at all anymore but only because she really needed _silence_ to study and the library rarely had that, thought—_honest_. (She almost believed that, too.) And the few times she saw McCoy, she always had somewhere to be, so it was always a quick wave and rushing off.

In May Christine graduated at the top of her class and was assigned to work at Starfleet Medical for a year while they finished construction on the _Enterprise_. She didn't see McCoy again after that, and she didn't think about that—or him—much at all. Really. Just the occasional stray thought or daydream. (And, hey, he was quite the fine male specimen, so who could blame her?)


	2. Part 2

**Author's Note:** Just a friendly reminder that this part will be from McCoy's perspective. Also, still unbeta'd, so please feel free to correct any glaringly obvious mistakes! Cheers!  
**Disclaimer: **Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of CBS/Paramount/Gene Roddenberry. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.

**something more than nothing**  
by, Caliente

**Part ****2**

Leonard McCoy didn't pine, damn it, but he did have regrets—_plenty_ of regrets. (A few even including another cadet named Chapel.)

There'd been moments—more than one for sure—when he'd just thought, _To hell with it!_ and been ready to kiss her. But then she'd look at him with those big, wide eyes and he knew it wasn't right. They were both too broken; it'd never work. Better to just keep what they had (whatever it was—if it even was anything at all).

And then one day she'd been gone. He'd woken up and it was summertime and he was back in Georgia—miserable, of course—but more so because Chapel was so far away. (Louisiana wasn't _that_ far, a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Jim pointed out but he put those thoughts from his mind. It wouldn't be polite and he might be a cranky ass, but McCoy was also a _gentleman_.)

He'd kept going to the library the first few months back at the Academy but Chapel was nowhere to be seen. Eventually McCoy ran into her on campus but she flew out of there so fast he wondered if the year before hadn't been some sort of elaborate fantasy. She just seemed so… unsettled. They hadn't been especially close, sure, but that reaction was unexpected, to say the least.

McCoy decided to put it out of his mind. (Easier said than done.) When he saw the holos of graduation at the end of the year, he felt a pang deep within his gut. Christine looked beautiful and he realized he was an idiot. All that time spend letting himself be afraid—letting her be scared, too.

And for what? There was something there, he knew there was. Something ill-defined and confusing but it was _real_ and that was all that _really_ mattered. But now she was gone—probably off in some star system somewhere and he might never see her again. (Yes, he'd gone to therapy for his aviophobia but it was hardly _gone_, just more manageable.)

Well. McCoy knew there was nothing he could do about _that_ but if he saw her again? He didn't know what he'd do but it'd be something more than nothing, that much he was sure of.

* * *

When he got on board the _Enterprise_, he didn't notice Chapel at first. No, that wasn't true. McCoy _definitely_ noticed Jim trying to hit on her and how she ducked her head as if trying to hide from him. (Though which _him_ she wanted to hide from, he couldn't be certain of.)

He was distracted and frazzled, though, and had far too many things to think about just then—not least important his friend who was somewhat ill thanks to him. Once Jim was out, McCoy turned his mind to the job. The job was the important thing right then. There'd be time for the rest of it later.

Of course, McCoy didn't know then that _later_ wouldn't be until after Jim Kirk pulled off the near-impossible against the Romulans and saved Earth. The _Enterprise_ was receiving a tow back to Earth (because they really didn't need to take a few years in impulse when they could make it in a few days in slow warp) and the crew was picking up the pieces.

McCoy called Chapel into what was, at least for now, _his_ office—because she'd inherited the Head Nurse position much like he had become Chief Medical Officer—to fix the shift rotations before things got any messier than they already were. (Which was pretty messy, honestly, seeing as they were short-staffed, overworked and stuck with more responsibility than they were probably ready for.)

They worked steadily for a good forty minutes before Chapel's stomach let out an unexpectedly loud rumbling noise. McCoy looked at her, eyebrow quirked in his signature way. "When was the last time you ate anything?" he asked, studying her—as in _really_ looking—for the first time. There were dark smudges under her eyes and she was a shade paler than he remembered. McCoy wondered if he looked similar; he must, he decided—there was no way he didn't look at least as rough for the wear.

"I don't know," Chapel admitted with a sigh. She put the PADD she'd been typing into down on his desk and slouched into her chair. "This is the first time I've even sat down in—" She blinked. "Yeah, don't remember that, either."

McCoy scowled. "You're going to the mess now." It wasn't a suggestion. "And then to your quarters for _at least_ four hours sleep." He'd prefer more—at least eight, really—but he figured that'd be pushing it. She looked poised to object, so he added: "Don't make me order you, Chapel, because I _will_." His expression softened a little, though, when caught her gaze and saw concern mixed in with her indignant glare. "This place won't fall apart without you—promise."

Chapel sighed again but stood up all the same. "Fine. But you're coming with me." This time McCoy was going to disagree but there was a fire in her gaze that shut him up right quick. "I can order you, too, y'know," she told him in a casual way that told him she'd do it if she felt it was necessary.

"So you can," McCoy agreed, moving a bit clumsily to his feet. (Was it his fault she had legs that went on forever and they were a big distracting? No. And he was tired, anyway, so he really couldn't be faulted for such things.) "Guess I better do as you say, then, huh?"

Grinning widely, Chapel nodded. "Yup. In fact, if you can pretty much always do that, I don't think we'll have any problems working together."

McCoy snorted. "Mm, you would think that." He rubbed a hand over his mouth, scratching his chin absently. (He definitely needed a shave.) "Pretty sure it's supposed to go the other way, though."

"And _you_ would think _that_," she teased back with a roll of her eyes.

* * *

It wasn't until McCoy was walking Chapel to her quarters after a pleasant meal that he realized three things: (1) this was the longest amount of time they'd spent together in a friendly capacity since the Academy, (2) he didn't want it to end, and (3) he was a miserable coward because he still hadn't said word one to her about the something more than nothing between them.

Chapel's quarters were her own, though not as large or nice as his, and he paused as she typed in her code. The doors swished open and she was two steps inside before she turned to face him again, eyebrows furrowed.

McCoy felt instantly self-conscious, something he couldn't recall happening since he was in primary school. "What?"

"Thought I told you that you were coming with me," she said with a pointed look. McCoy stared at her, dumbfounded. "Come on then. How else am I going to be certain you get at least four hours of sleep?"

Trailing after her despite lingering surprise, McCoy managed to smirk. "You don't trust me?"

Chapel snorted. "Not about this." She sat on her bed and pulled off her boots before laying down. He wondered if it meant anything that she left him the right, which he'd always considered _his_ side. "Don't forget that I know you, McCoy—you'd live in that sickbay if you could."

As he lay down beside her, McCoy didn't bother correcting her. (He couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be right then than where he was.)


	3. Part 3

**Author's Note:** Just a friendly reminder that this part will be from Chapel's perspective again. Again, this is unbeta'd, so please feel free to correct any mistakes you find! Cheers!  
**Disclaimer: **Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of CBS/Paramount/Gene Roddenberry. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.

**something more than nothing**  
by, Caliente

**Part ****3**

The first thing Christine became aware of as her mind returned to consciousness was an arm slung possessively over her stomach and a warm body spooning her from behind. Hazy memories from hours before flooded her and her face flushed a brilliant red. Oh God, had she just committed career and social suicide in one fell swoop?

Because she had to be certifiable to have done what she did, right? Honestly! She'd essentially ordered Leonard McCoy—who was just about the most confusing man she knew and now her _boss_ to boot!—to come sleep with her. _Just sleep_, thank God, but still! Not Christine's finest moment of self-control—or thinking things through.

Of course, if she thought about, Christine could admit that thinking may have been her problem with Leonard McCoy all along. But she wasn't thinking about that. No, she was thinking about how overtiredness was the same—or worse—than being drunk when it came to decision making. That could be the only explanation. Really. Because she was so over the nothing with McCoy, it wasn't even funny.

(Although his body did feel nice, pressed against her. God, she was an idiot. And that arm? She liked how it felt around her. Idiot!)

Christine sighed quietly then pulled away just far enough that she could roll over to look at the man. She was momentarily startled by how close together they were but it passed quickly. She noted they were both still fully dressed (minus their boots, of course), though her uniform had begun bunching at the bottom. She tugged at the edges of her skirt until some semblance of propriety (ha!) had returned.

When her gaze flicked back up, she saw a pair of brown eyes watching her. Christine flushed instantly. Apparently her fidgeting had woken the good doctor. "Hi," was all she could think to offer.

"Hi." McCoy reached forward and tucked some loose blonde hair behind her ear. He let his hand trail along her jaw and she couldn't think of anything except how warm it was against her skin. "I'm going to kiss you now," he told her, voice barely above a whisper.

Christine still couldn't think of a response. McCoy must've taken her silence as an affirmative, though, because he shifted forward and touched his lips to hers. Despite the fact that her brain _still_ didn't seem to be working beyond instinctual levels, she returned the kiss. It was sweet and gentle and all together lovely.

When they pulled apart, Christine looked at McCoy with wide eyes. "We probably shouldn't do that again," she whispered, fighting the urge to touch her lips. (They were still tingling. Why were they still tingling?)

"Probably not," McCoy agreed in a tone that somehow mirrored everything she was feeling.

They stared at each other for a long minute and then suddenly, as if some kind of force were propelling them both, they crashed together again in a mixture of lips and limbs. There was a flurry of movements between them to be rid of their bothersome uniforms as each of them kissed, licked and nipped hungrily at the other.

* * *

Laying naked (and satisfied) beneath the covers beside Leonard McCoy, Christine Chapel again wondered if she'd just committed career and social suicide. (And if she really cared as much as she probably ought to.) "We probably shouldn't do that again, either," she said with a sigh. Because she honestly wouldn't mind doing it again—a few dozen (or maybe hundred?) times, even.

"Maybe." Leonard (because he couldn't be _McCoy_ anymore; that wasn't right) was looking at her, she could feel his gaze.

Christine took a breath and turned to look at him too. (She hated that he was so damn handsome and all she wanted to do was kiss him until she forgot which was up and that this was a really, _really_ bad idea.) "I don't—we have careers to think about. Is it really worth risking them over this…" she waved her hands between them, "whatever it is."

The expression on his face was unreadable as he watched her and Christine could feel her resolve weakening. "I mean, it might turn out to be nothing. And we still have to work together, right?" For at least a little while, anyway.

Leonard nodded slowly. "It might be nothing…" he agreed slowly and it struck her how much it hurt to hear the words confirmed, "or it might be _everything_."

A slow grin bloomed on Christine's face and she leaned her head forward so their foreheads were touching. "You willing to take that gamble, McCoy?"

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "Hell yes."

Christine could feel herself practically glowing. "Good answer."


End file.
